Date: Wed, 28 Jan 2015 17:47:15 +0000 (UTC)
From: John Dean Major <johndeanmajor@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Grand General - Part 2

Disclaimer: This story is fictional and thus explores a slightly different
world than ours. Any similarities to real-world people or events are purely
coincidental. The story is also not meant to be social commentary.

Author's note: This is part 2 of an ongoing series. Your feedback on what
you liked or disliked about the story is appreciated and helps me refine
and fine-tune my writing. Comments and suggestions are welcome at
johndeanmajor@yahoo.com.


7. Earth, Fire, Water


Two weeks after the Elden takeover, Commander First Class Belfario's
garrison had almost doubled. If he had been able to convert the base staff
into trained soldiers as easily as he was able to convert enemies into
allies, his squad would have tripled. Alas, it was not to be. Technology
only went so far... for now. He still didn't know exactly how it worked,
nor did he need to.

As the day drew to a close, he and his soldiers filed into the communal
showers in the basement, exchanging foul jokes and snappy comments about
the day's work and each other's supposed flaws. To think that only a few
short weeks ago, half of these men would have killed Belfario and any of
his original squad without hesitation... The thought was both very real and
very abstract in his head. He got out of his uniform without giving it a
second thought, and his squad followed suit. He looked around and saw a
diverse group of young men, all fit because of the job, some more muscular
than others due to paying visits to the gym. He saw them all as equals in
his care, but he couldn't completely erase from his head the knowledge that
one half of them had trained together with him at Homeland HQ years ago,
and another half had only just joined, having been trained at one of the
enemy's compounds, likely having had families and friends there. Belfario
lowered his gaze for a moment, then shook his head and marched into the
showers. It was no use thinking about it.

'Good work today, men,' said Belfario and took his position under a
showerhead, with two of his subordinates at his side - showering in threes
had proven to be the most efficient way to conserve water and heat between
the whole squad.

He opened the valve and let the water hit him in the face. He ran his
fingers through his beard and then his blond hair, his eyes closed. He
scrubbed his pits and splashed some water over his shoulders, breathing
deeply and enjoying the warmth. The Elden base was situated in an area rich
in hot springs; the showers were built into the basement so as to easier
make use of them. The heat never went away, but the water level rose and
fell and the heat changed from lukewarm to searing. There was a sweet spot
between 9 and 10 at night when there was just enough hot water to take care
of the whole squad, and so they all showered jointly at that time.

Belfario opened his eyes as he felt hands on his stomach. He saw the man to
his left looking up at him and extending his arms towards him, felt his
hands scrub his abdomen and then his torso. He was shocked the first time
it happened, but he'd gotten used to it since. The man was black and had a
gymnast's build, a layer of well-defined muscle covering every part of his
body, following its natural shape. His name was Carver; he was an engineer
with a passion for gymnastics prior to enlisting and had a wife and
daughter waiting for him back home. As the commander scrubbed himself
between the asscheeks, the brown-eyed soldier scrubbed the commander's
crotch; as the commander shampooed his blond hair, the soldier did the same
for his chest hair and let the water just run down his own body, paying no
attention to himself.

A week ago, Belfario had fucked this soldier's asshole and dumped his seed
into him. Prior to that, he had been an enemy, and now he felt obliged to
help Belfario out in any way he could. The soldier to Belfario's right, an
old comrade who'd fought alongside the commander in many battles, struggled
not to look at what was going on, single-mindedly focusing on scrubbing
himself down and finishing up.

Belfario thought back to the day he was changed. Grand General Maden had
asked him to come in for a consultation with him at a Council
meeting. Belfario had assumed it was for a promotion. He wasn't vain, but
he was aware of his track record. He had led more successful operations
than almost all of the other Commanders Third Class combined. He thought it
strange, however, that it was the Grand General, and not his father, who
extended the invitation. General Belfario and his son had always seen eye
to eye on matters and were very close, so the young Belfario wondered why
he hadn't heard any talk of his promotion from his father, a Councillor and
Hand just like the Grand General.

Upon entering a small conference room, he saw the 8 generals seated around
a large table, the Grand General traditionally at its head and general
Belfario the first one on his left.

'I'll cut straight to the chase, commander,' said the Grand General with
some degree of formality in his deep, usually friendly voice. 'The Tenth
Council has reviewed your record and, in light of your capabilities, we've
decided to promote you... to Commander First Class.'

'Sir!' said Belfario, saluting. 'Thank you, Sir! But, if I may be so
bold... I'm only Third Class now. I haven't heard of officers skipping a
rank before...'

'That is none of your concern,' said the Grand General, reprimanding him,
but then added in his normal relaxed tone, 'but you're right. The thought
process was that you have been performing at Second Class level for a long
time now and a promotion hasn't found its way to you yet only because the
Council has been busy with other matters. We thought it appropriate to
acknowledge the reality of your abilities in light of this and assign you
the position you deserve, rather than one dictated by bureaucracy.'

'Sir! Thank you, Sir!' said Belfario, eyeing his father, expecting some
sort of reaction from him, but his eyes were fixated on the table.

'There is one other matter, commander,' said the Grand General, and
Belfario saw his father perk up. 'The Three Hands have suffered a loss
recently, as I'm sure you're aware. General Traffao lost his life defending
the eastern border, and for that we are indebted to him. However, we must
press on, and there are always three Hands for a practical reason. In light
of this, we hereby name you a Hand of the Republic.'

Belfario's father looked at him now, pride and worry mixed in his eyes. The
young soldier was stunned. The Hands were the elite of the military; there
was no higher rank. To his knowledge, one had to be a general to be drafted
into the Hands, but he wondered if that was simply another bureaucratic
demand that the Council opted to ignore in his case.

'Th-thank you, Sir... I... have to be honest and express my doubt at
whether my abilities are enough to -'

'It is ours to assess your abilities, commander, and our assessment is
positive. However, this is the first time family members will be Hands
concurrently, and you need to be ready for some backlash in that regard. We
guarantee you that no nepotism is at work here. In fact, general Belfario
was the only one who voted against this decision.'

Belfario expected his father to look away from him at this revelation, but
his eyes remained fixed on his son. It only took him a moment to realize
that his father hadn't voted 'no' because he thought his son couldn't
handle the job. The paternal love in his eyes explained his vote: he was
worried about something, something inherent to the position of Hand.

'My duty as head of the Council and as spokesperson for the Hands has been
fulfilled,' said the Grand General, stood up and approached Belfario,
offering him his hand. 'I congratulate you and wish you all the best, to
serve your country well and to be as wise and responsible with your new
power as your father has been.'

Belfario shook the Grand General's hand, his heart aflutter at the sight of
his smiling face and the sound of his caring words. Immediately afterward,
he realized how rare it was for someone to get to shake the great man's
hand, and he quickly defaulted into a standard salute, adding a 'Sir!' to
seal the deal. The Grand General kept smiling and saluted back, retreating
to his seat.

'I swear I will do you and the Republic proud,' said Belfario, unsure if he
was expected to say anything. After a pause, he rather reluctantly asked
when he would officially ascend to his new rank.

'There is no public ceremony, if that's what you mean,' said the Grand
General, 'but there is a private ritual to officially induct you into the
group and to give you the knowledge and abilities required of the
position. Your father has been given the honor of inducting you and it will
be done forthwith. Our functioning has been hampered by General Traffao's
absence for too long and we have need of you as soon as possible. To that
effect, you and the Council are hereby dismissed.'

The sound of chairs scraping the floor rang out through the room as
Belfario unconciously began walking towards his father. The two were very
much alike, or at least became so after Belfario finished puberty and
developed into a man. Both men were very light-haired, taller than average
and slim by nature, with extraordinarily blue eyes. As Belfario approached
his father, however, he was reminded that the man had changed. He was
taller than before, and his muscles were bigger; his skin younger; his hair
fuller. The change happened during a week that Belfario had spent on a
mission, and his father would later dodge questions about it using
humor. With time, Belfario got used to it. But now, as he approached his
father, a head taller than his son and bigger than ever, he had an odd
thought that he was surprised he'd never had before: that week, his father
had become a Hand.


8. Calm


'I haven't told you this and I... but I want to tell you,' said Thomas with
a hiccup.

Three weeks had passed since he and the general first worked out together
in the general's private gym, the secretary in laughably oversized clothes
and the Grand General naked. That it was a surreal day for Thomas would be
putting it mildly: pumping iron with his hero, the savior of the nation,
throwing around jokes and talking about the most mundane things as they
both gave it their all to work their muscles to exhaustion. He was a bit
freaked out by the nudity at the start, but quickly relaxed as he saw how
chill the general was about it. He was clearly no stranger to exercising in
the nude; it was his private gym, after all.

Thomas had also been worried that he would underperform because he'd
already gone to the gym earlier that day, but the general didn't seem to
notice anything. He spotted Thomas several times, his strong muscles easily
dealing with the weight that Thomas worked with. He even didn't seem to
mind the sweat Thomas had worked up in his clothes: when Thomas apologized
for it, the general just gave a rumbling laugh, raised an arm, smelled his
own pit and recoiled in affected terror.

When they were done, they hit the shower. Thomas had been expecting a
communal shower, but then realized that building that would obviously have
been a waste of time and money since the gym was only meant for the
general. Instead, a decent-size shower cabin lay beyond a door in the
corner of the locker room. Thomas worried that things would get awkward in
there for two men at once and told the general that he could go first,
trying to subtly suggest that they should shower separately. The general
just shook his head and expressed how he saw nothing wrong with showering
with another man, even in close quarters. 'We're all brothers in arms,' he
said. The shower went surprisingly smoothly. Thomas appreciated the
general's build from up close, his chest and legs bulging more than usual
because of the workout, the water drawing clear lines in the creases
between his mounds, his large member hanging between his legs, the foreskin
revealing some of his cockhead. Thomas was worried that he'd be sporting
wood from cleaning himself, but his dick didn't react. He observed his own
body, smoothly athletic and almost hairless, and felt accepted by the
general when he noticed him giving Thomas and his equipment a quick
once-over while they showered.

Over the next few weeks, the general had invited Thomas to the gym again a
few more times, when he felt like having company. Every workout was
comfortable and relaxed, and the two quickly started talking about
real-world things between sets or in the shower or the locker room, all
while shooting friendly insults at each other like equals rather than
subordinate and superior. Then, after work finished early one day, the
general asked Thomas if he'd like to have a drink. The soldier was quick to
accept and suggested a bar nearby where he and his friends usually went to
unload, but the general countered his offer.

'Why don't we go to my place?' he said casually. 'It's calmer
there. Besides, I have bottles upon bottles of good whiskey and no one to
drink them with.'

'Sounds good to me,' said Thomas, already used to omitting 'Sir' from his
speech after work.

The general's apartment was modern comfort combined with a retro 'cabin in
the woods' style. There were sprawling sofas and matte futons, carpets on
hardwood in the living room and cold tiles in the bathroom, a gaudy
chandelier in the kitchen and a series of unintrusive lamps spread
throughout the place. It was designed by someone with too much money and
not enough taste, but the general seemed fond of it when he gave Thomas the
tour.

'Yeah it's rich-looking,' said the general as the two sat down on a pair of
futons on opposite sides of a coffee table, a large bottle of whiskey and
two glasses between them, an artificial fireplace burning nearby, 'but it
has its small charms. The government paid for it, but I put in some
personal touches, like that, uhh, broken wooden chair over there. It's like
that by design. Postmodern, you see... is what I tell people. In truth, I
just failed to build a simple wooden chair!'

The general laughed and Thomas with him, each relaxing in his futon and
enjoying the atmosphere. The two men were comfortable with silence and
exchanged friendly smiles in longer pauses to let each other know that they
weren't bored and that they were still having a good time together. The
whiskey helped to get the conversation going and soon enough they were
laughing their asses off over the most random things, general and secretary
on equal standing, just two men and some alcohol between them.

'You told me you had a twin who goes by Tom, right?' said the general,
downing a glass. 'What's going on with him? Is he in your life?'

'He, uhh... I don't know, to be honest. He's kind of in my life but also
kind of not. We speak over the phone every so often, but he has his own
thing going on. He's always been the layabout and I the disciplined one -
not to toot my own horn...'

'Toot away, mate,' said the general and laughed. 'You've earned it.'

'Well, whatever. He's traveling now, vagabonding around, taking the
occasional job and, uhh, not being very adult. He mentions a new girl every
time we speak. It was Leslie last time. Big, uhh,' he started and looked at
the general, feeling the heat from the whiskey in his head.

'Big tits?' the general interrupted. 'Well, good for him, I say. He's got
it together, off with some big breasted beauty while you're just sitting
around drinking with another man.'

'There's worse places to be,' said Thomas with a grin, 'and I'm an ass man
myself.'

'You're saying I have a nice ass, soldier?' the general yelled and then
burst into a fit of laughter when Thomas recoiled before bursting into
laughter himself. 'Well... I don't have tits, but I bet these pecs could
fool a man in the dark.'

'Not any man I know. They're too hard, Sir... uhh, hah. Have you ever even
felt tits? Soft as a puppy's... I dunno... belly?'

The two laughed at their dumb jokes, opening a third bottle. Both of them
went to the toilet a number of times and, when the general returned with
his belt unbuckled, he laughed and took it off, unbuttoning his pants
before sitting back down on his futon. Thomas followed suit and unbuttoned
his own trousers as a sign of solidarity, even though he didn't need to; it
made no difference to him, two bottles of whiskey into the evening.

'Ahh, you'll get to that age where your stomach demands space no matter how
tight your abs are,' said the general and patted his belly, visibly bulging
out of his yellow T-shirt in spite of his muscles.

'We'll see about that,' said Thomas and patted his own stomach, straight as
a board in spite of the two bottles of whiskey in him.

'You look really good, though,' said the general suddenly, his eyes sliding
over Thomas, half-focused. 'But you don't seem to go out with women
much. How come?'

'Too much trouble, I guess,' said Thomas, shrugging his shoulders in his
undershirt. The apartment was too hot, but none of the men thought to turn
down the fireplace, instead opting to take off their shirts. The general's
T-shirt was wet with sweat from his pits and chest and stomach, but he
didn't notice; Thomas's undershirt was a little better. 'I dunno. I've been
with a couple girls for a longer time, but they always leave because I
can't give them something they want.'

'Equipment not performing in bed, eh?' said the general with a
smirk. 'Kidding. Your shit looks good in the shower.'

'Uhh... thanks, man... Conner... Yours, uhh... yours too.'

Thomas was mumbling, his mind reeling from trying to recall his past
girlfriends in one moment to remembering the look of the general's manhood
in the other. The image came unwanted, but it was clear: a long, thick
shaft hanging between his muscular legs, supported by a pair of balls
bigger than any Thomas had seen, surrounded by finely groomed black
hairs. Thomas swallowed and focused his eyes on the general, trying to get
back into the conversation, sipping on another glass of the tasteless
drink.

'I'm fine with just me and my hand,' he said, trying to make a pumping
motion with his right fist and accidentally spilling the whiskey he was
holding. 'Hand doesn't need much attention, you know,' he continued,
unaware of the accident.

'Yeah, I guess,' said the general, unconsciously lowering his arm to his
bulging crotch and fixing himself. '... Starts being boring after too long,
though, right? Beating your own meat...'

'I guess, uhh... Actually, I dunno... I'm not bored yet,' said Thomas and
reached down to fix himself too. 'Oh, fuck!' he yelled under his breath as
he noticed the spilt whiskey over his crotch.

'Don't worry about it, Tom... Heh, sorry. It's hard not to call you
that. Just throw 'em in the washer. They'll be done by tomorrow.'

Thomas got up and fell back down onto the futon, laughing with the general
as he got back up on his feet. He could hardly hold his balance, but he
managed to slip out of his pants and throw them aside before falling back
down, not even noticing the precum stain that his dick had produced on his
boxers.

'Sorry, I'll... I'll take them to the washer later... okay?'

'No problem, mate,' said the general, closing his eyes for a bit. 'My home
is... your uhh... house...'

'Thanks, Conner. You're a real good fr...' said Thomas, before snapping out
of his haze for a moment. 'No, wait. I'll go take them now. I shouldn't be
littering your place.'

'They're just pants, Tom,' said the general. '... You've got a nice pair of
legs there, mate. Runner's legs. Surprised women don't stick around for
stuff like that. Probably can't appreciate what they have, huh?'

'I dunno. Maybe. I haven't had a... a girl in a while,' said Thomas, almost
biting his tongue. '... You, uh...? You use your junk much? On anything
besides your hand?'

Thomas couldn't believe the words had left his mouth, but the whiskey had
inhibited his reasoning. There was no reason not to ask whatever came to
his mind. He didn't think the general was the sort to mind sharing stuff
like that; hell, they were talking about jacking off earlier. He realized
for a moment how close to his hero he'd gotten and his heart started
pumping harder in response.

'Well, I piss down the latrinemen's throats, if you count that as using my
junk,' the general said and burped through his laughter, eyes still
half-closed. 'Nah. My hand is the only hole that can handle my shit.'

'Bet I could handle your shit,' said Thomas, not even aware of what he was
talking about. 'I'd do anything for you, Conner. I haven't told you this
and I... but I want to tell you. You're my hero. You've been my hero for
fucking ever. If you hadn't taken Marydon... my family and I
would've... God, man. How can I ever repay you for saving our lives? How do
you even begin to thank the man who's the reason why you're still alive,
huh?'

The general looked at Thomas, half-understanding his words, his heart
warmed by his outburst of gratitude. 'You've told me,' he said. 'You told
me about that before... and I said I was glad I was able to help... I
think. I don't know if you should bother yourself about thanking me. You're
welcome. I should be thanking you for keeping an old man company like this
and not being bored out of your mind.'

'What are you on about?' asked Thomas. 'I'm having a blast with you. I
couldn't ever have... dreamed of getting to spend time with you like
this...'

Their conversation was now a series of monologues, with one spilling his
guts and the other nodding along, half-there and half-elsewhere, but they
were having a great time bonding and unloading. Sometimes a man needs to
share his burden with no expectation of help or sympathy, needs to share it
just to get it off his chest. Such was their first night together; in a
state of some undress, the two men started snoring on their futons almost
at the same time, a bottle still open between them, the lights and the
fireplace remaining on.


9. Hand of the Republic


Belfario clenched his teeth and pressed his face into the pillow, his arms
hugging the edges of the mattress. He was naked, kneeling on the bed, his
torso sloping down, every muscle in him tight and prepared for danger. He
had a beautiful chest, wide and not too massive. His lats flared as he
hugged the bed, his arms tense and muscles tight. He breathed in and out
through his nose, trying to calm himself, but he couldn't help the
fear. When he felt the cock that had made him pressing its giant head
against his asshole, an area he'd never interacted with, he inhaled sharply
and held his breath. He felt it push against him lightly, getting him
ready, and he felt that it was wet from something. Precum, probably, he
thought and immediately cringed at the thought of his father's juices. Even
with his ass cheeks spread far apart and in the position he was in, he felt
general Belfario's massive cockhead pressing against a large area of his
behind, covering a surface far greater than his shithole. He forbade his
mind from wondering how the thing was supposed to enter him.

'Relax,' said general Belfario softly as he placed a heavy hand on his
son's lower back. 'It only gets easier if you relax. Remember why you need
to do this. Take pride in it. This is as hard for me as it is for you,
Mikka, but it's our duty.'

The general was kneeling on the bed behind his son, his massive cock
standing at attention, ready to ram the back gates of his only child. The
two men were similar, yes, but the general was a beast of a man, hairier
and more muscular than his son by several degrees; even through his tall
bush of blond pubes, his manhood rose proudly like a marble tower, lacking
visible veins of any kind, pure white and shining with precum and some soft
cream that he'd put on, knowing the challenge his son would be facing. He
swung his hips forward softly, pushing against his son, but his hole still
wasn't ready to receive him. Not by a long shot.

'Remember our talk, Mikka,' the general continued, his voice mellow and
warm, 'remember it and internalize what I said to you.'

'I can't remember anything with your fucking dick pushing at my ass!'
shouted Belfario. '... Sorry. God.'

The general leaned over his son and laid both his hands on him, running
them up and down his back, pressing on his tense muscles and urging them to
loosen. He massaged his shoulders, his lower back, his sides, and although
he was reluctant to do what they were about to do, he couldn't help but be
proud of the son he'd been rewarded with. For him, it was only yesterday
that Mikka Belfario was a tiny twerp who couldn't tie his shoes and who
wailed like a girl every time his dad had to go on deployment; it felt
surreal to see him now, spread out before his father, a fit and promising
young man, the youngest ever to rise to the rank Commander First Class, not
to mention Hand of the Republic. The general thought about how proud he was
and his massive manhood twitched, pushing once again against Belfario.

'Stop that!' shouted Belfario again, still breathing
heavily. 'Just... Fucking hell, Dad, just give me some time. You didn't use
to be that fucking huge...'

Belfario shut his eyes tighter and attempted to concentrate on the talk
from earlier. After the Council session, his father congratulated him in
front of his peers before leading him out through an inconspicuous door in
the corner of the chamber as the rest of the Council filed out through the
main entrance. They walked quietly through a narrow hallway down a
red-and-gold carpet, the young commander not daring to break the silence,
aware that something big was coming. At the end of the hallway was a small
waiting room with three unassuming doorways. The leftmost door's plaque
read 'Conner Maden, GG, HR, 10C1'; the center one read 'Kaum Belfario, HR,
10C7'; the right one, towards which his father was marching...

'These are the Hands' living quarters,' said general Belfario, his voice
heavy and quiet, 'and this was Traffao's room, but, well... I must welcome
to your official quarters, Mikka Belfario, Hand of the Republic. Alas, your
name will be lacking the Tenth Council honorary for now, as you're not a
general.'

'I have to sleep in this dump now?'

The general laughed and finally looked at his son, his bright eyes shining
with pride.

'No, you don't. The quarters are yours to do with as you plea -' he
started, but then burst into laughter again.

The young Belfario couldn't help grinning at his father. He was glad he was
able to break the ice. He felt his father's stern attitude defrosting as he
laughed and put his arm around his son, opening the door and leading him
in.

They talked for what felt like hours in the modest living quarters of the
future Hand, just a bed and a desk and a wardrobe, all painted in a bold
auburn, up to the young Belfario to customize as he wished. His father and
he sat down side by side on the bed and, after a pause, his father began
speaking to him. He told him the short version of the story of how the War
was won, a story untold to the public and known only to Hands, out of even
the Council's purview.

The Ninth Council had among them a keen scientist of questionable moral
values, an unquenchable thirst for knowledge made flesh. A general of
modest combat successes, he ascended to the Council due to his contribution
to the military's weapons department, having made various innovations in
the process of arms production. Upon becoming Councillor, he poured the
entirety of the significant funds newly available to him into some of his
high-concept research and, come the later years of the war, a practical
application was found and it needed testing. He needed test subjects; the
army sent out a call and many soldiers of every rank volunteered.

Though thousands of able-bodied men and women in the service were injected
with the formula prototype over several months, there were no
results. Until, of course, one day there was a result. When general Conner
Maden, bereft over the loss of his wife, decided to volunteer for the
experiment on a whim, no rhyme or reason to his actions, no one expected a
thing anymore. Too much time had passed and too many subjects had been
tested to no effect. So, when general Conner Maden entered the scientist
Councillor's office a week after taking the formula, taller, stronger,
younger-looking, more muscular, more fit and radiating what felt to the
Councillor like an aura of concentrated masculinity, the War became as good
as won in the Councillor's mind.

'But how did the Grand General's change help him win a war fought with
tanks and missiles?' asked Belfario, having been listening attentively to
his father's tale.

'Jan-27, as you know, was a battle fought not with tanks and missiles, but
man-to-man,' said the general and averted his gaze. 'It was designed to be
so. The general became a superior man, yes, but as you said, no man can
beat a tank. However, there are always tank drivers, missile control,
snipers, hackers... in other words, people who control and make use of
these machines of war. Without the people, the machines are useless.'

'And if you can control the people...' said Belfario and paused. 'Mind
control? They developed mind control?'

'Hmm, not quite. What you're about to hear is...'

'I understand the implications and the importance and all the other
qualifiers,' said Belfario impatiently. 'Just get it out already.'

'Alright,' the general said and sighed. 'As I understand it, there's some
not-yet-understood science behind it. Word is that Councillor Themer, the
one who developed the formula, came to it either through sheer luck or a
deal with the devil, both equally unbelievable explanations, but the fact
remains that no one has been able to replicate it yet and Themer died
shortly after Jan-27. Conspiracy theories abound, of course, but I won't
get into that. In any case, it's not mind control that they developed, but
a form of... attraction, I guess. A way to instil an animalistic, pack
mentality into humans; one alpha and his subordinates, bound to him and
willing to die for him against all reason. The Grand General... and later
the other Hands, of course... we are the alphas, able to influence others,
able to get even enemies to join us, if not because they support our ideas,
then because they support us personally.'

'So, mind control pheromones of some sort?' asked Belfario, frowning.

'Well, pheromones have never been proven to work in humans the way they do
in animals, but... I suppose, yes. There are differences, and like I said,
it's not mind control... but the effect is similar, at least for stage one
of loyalty. However, just seeing a Hand can have the effect, even if it's
just a photograph. Even hearing a Hand's voice... so, you see, it can't
exactly be pheromones. As far as we know, it can't be anything; and yet, it
works. The only reason the rest of the Hands aren't worshipped the same way
as the Grand General by the public is because we consciously limit the
public's exposure to us. It's better for there not to be any competition
between us in that respect.'

Belfario looked at his father, golden beard and shining blond hair adorning
his head, and had a strange thought.

'Alright. I'll believe it, coming from you. But one thing's bothering me:
you said that the formula died with the scientist after the Grand General
became what he became. If that's correct, then how did you... how did the
other Hands come to be?'

General Belfario nodded to himself, as if to indicate that his son had hit
the mark, and continued speaking.

'It can only be transferred by male ejaculate,' said general Belfario, his
eyes still aimed at the floor rather than at his son. 'By male
semen. It... lots of it has to be absorbed into the body through the mucous
membranes.'

'Cum?' asked Belfario, perplexed by what he was hearing. 'You have
to... absorb cum?'

'Yes, well... absorb... mucous membranes line the human rectum and the
inside of the human mouth... there are other, more exotic membranes, but
those have proven inefficient in the transfer. There is also an element of
will to it, uhm... the Hand has to want to transfer the formula in order to
do it. It can't happen involuntarily. Another bit of mysterious science for
you; how does the formula connect to the brain and interpret its electric
signals as the desire to pass the formula on? It's fascinating, really...'

'Dad,' said Belfario, staring at his father, short for breath, 'Dad... shut
up. What the fuck are you saying to me here? Huh?'

The general inhaled deeply and straightened his back, sitting up on the bed
after having slouched the whole time. He looked at his son, his child,
who'd only yesterday been 6-year-old Mikka, playing in the sand and kicking
girls for fun and promising to marry one of them if she would touch his
nose with hers; he looked at his blue eyes, his father's blue eyes, and his
blond buzz cut; he looked at his gentle bone structure, masculine but soft,
a gift from his mother; he looked into his horrified eyes and spoke.

'Hands of the Republic are carriers of the formula. The Grand General was
the first. When I was elected to become Hand after a previous one passed
away, the Grand General took me into a room much like this and explained it
all... explained that, for both of us to serve our country as best we
could, he would have to fuck me and cum into me for the formula to pass
between us... for me to become a Hand; a superior man; a perfect leader; an
alpha. In a way, the Grand General was kind when he chose me for this duty
that I must fulfil today, rather than taking on you himself. I'll try to
make it easy for you, Mikka... but you understand now what must happen,
don't you?'

For the longest time, Belfario just stared at him.


10. Breakfast


The smell of fried eggs intruded on Thomas's nostrils even before he became
aware of it; in his nightmare, it manifested as the stench of dead people,
his dead family in an alternate universe where the Grand General never took
Marydon base. When he snapped out of it and awoke, he realized where he was
and sat up instantly. Too fast for his hung-over brain; he fell back onto
the bed with a thud and grabbed his head. He remembered his time with the
general and realized that he thought he'd fallen asleep on the futon in the
living room. But that wasn't where he was right now. As he shut his eyes to
chase the headache away, he realized that what he'd just seen in his moment
of consciousness was the general's bedroom, because it was decorated the
same as the rest of his apartment. He wondered for a moment how he'd gotten
to lie in the general's bed, but then the smell of fried eggs reached him
again and made his belly growl. The whiskey had done nothing for his
hunger; he'd gone to bed without eating, and now he was starving.

He got up in spite of his throbbing head and limped over to the door, small
rays of light entering the room through the keyhole and the shutters on the
window behind him. As he opened the door, the morning light almost burned
his eyes to a crisp; he quickly raised a hand to cover his eyes and, slowly
but surely, started to see again. He saw the living room where they'd spent
their evening together, a bottle of whiskey still on the coffee table, the
glasses missing. He saw the futons where they'd sat, bent out of shape; the
general's more so than Thomas's, of course. And finally, he saw the kitchen
through a doorway across the living room, filled with light from an open
window. The smell of fried eggs was clearly coming from there.

He took but two steps forward before he saw him. The Grand General - his
new friend - stood at the kitchen counter, sunkissed and naked, making
breakfast and humming. Thomas had seen him before, of course... but never
like this. He was completely relaxed and loose, one hip thrown out as his
weight rested on one thick leg, his massive cock semi-erect, probably the
aftermath of severe morning wood, lying flat on the counter because the
general was tall enough and there was not enough room for its length
elsewhere. Thomas stared at it, unable to comprehend how a penis could be
so giant. Semi-hard, it looked almost the size of Thomas's forearm, both in
length and in girth, the general's balls the size of Thomas's
fists. Thomas's head still hurt and he was struggling to see through the
light, but that image of the general was something he thought he'd never
forget.

'Oh!' said the general, turning around to smile at Thomas, his cock flying
off the counter and swinging in front of him. 'Good morning to you too! Why
were you just standing there?'

'I was admiring your fucking massive cock, Conner,' said Thomas with a
laugh, finally feeling free to be honest. 'Holy shit man, you're
packing. No wonder you said women can't handle you.'

The general laughed his honest, booming laughter and turned back to take
care of the eggs, unaware of Thomas's eyes still running up and down the
length of his dick and observing the way it erupted from the bottom of his
ripped stomach, out of a neat forest of black hairs.

'That's mighty praise coming from you, Tom,' said the general as he shook
the eggs. 'Sit your naked ass down, mate, breakfast is almost done.'

Only now did Thomas realize that he was walking around naked too, his fit
body clearly comfortable being free in front of the general, his dick
flaccid amid his pubes. He sat on a high chair at the small kitchen table,
his ass pressing against it and enjoying the warm material. The general
clearly didn't need to suffer the discomfort of cold seating in his own
house.

'Last thing I remember is the living room,' said Thomas, now admiring the
general's sculpted back and hard ass. 'How did I end up in your bed? And
where did you sleep?'

'The sofa,' the general said casually. 'I figured a guest deserves the best
treatment, so I carried you over to my bed. By the way, so much money went
into making that bed as comfortable as possible that this better have been
the best sleep of your life or I'll feel ripped off.'

Thomas stayed silent, not wanting to mention his nightmares. Thankfully,
the general didn't take his silence to mean anything.

'Thank you for last night, mate,' said the general, bringing the pan with
the eggs to the table and sitting on a chair opposite Thomas. 'I bet you're
starving, though. Have at it!'

Thomas had the urge to react with surprise at the fact that the general had
made breakfast for the both of them, but his hunger stopped him from saying
anything. He gobbled up the eggs greedily, watching the general do the
same, and felt even more connected to him; last night they drank together,
and now they were eating together.

'Why are we naked, though?' asked Thomas while chewing on the general's
delicious eggs.

The general laughed and said, 'It looks like I'm some kind of crazy nudist,
doesn't it? I'm swinging free because I honestly didn't think you'd wake up
so soon and I just came out of the shower. As for you, well... You kind of
slobbered all over your pants last night and you spilled my fine whiskey on
your shirt as well as your pants, so I took the liberty of throwing them
into the washer. Don't worry, it's fast; you'll have the clothes back in a
bit.'

'That's alright,' said Thomas. 'Thanks, man. Sorry about your whiskey.'

They ate some more, exchanging the occasional glance and joke, but mostly
just enjoying a quiet breakfast. The two men felt at home with each other,
more than either of them had felt in quite a while. Thomas had been
searching for someone to complete him for a long time, ever since his
brother decided to lead his life a little differently and left home. His
twin had been everything to him up to that point and they did absolutely
everything together, so much so that Thomas never really befriended anyone
else at school or otherwise. He made some acquaintances as he got older,
certainly, and had fun going out for drinks with them on occasion, but none
of them were people he could rely on or talk to openly or feel at home
with. He had dated several women, searching for the same kind of
fulfillment, but it never came; or they just never gave it enough time. He
was as surprised as anyone now to be feeling that sort of primal bond with
his childhood hero.

The general had been a lonely man for many years too, after his wife's
death, his transformation, his son leaving home. He didn't even realize how
lonely he was until he hired Thomas and started talking to him, slowly and
business-like at first, but then more relaxed and mentioning things he
shouldn't have, like when he talked about Jan-27 to him some weeks ago. He
was glad he let himself open up to his subordinate a bit and earn a
potential friend, but his secret still bothered him: the fact that he could
never tell a non-Hand about what being a Hand meant.

'So, I've been meaning to ask you,' said Thomas, finishing his
breakfast. 'Have you always been so big? I mean... You're the most massive
man I've ever seen, and I'm sure you've had to work hard for it, but your
meat, man... How'd you go through school with that thing without
impregnating every girl within a six-foot radius?'

'Who says I didn't?' said the general and laughed the question off.

Thomas fell silent, noticing the dodge, but then chastised himself for
expecting anything else. What did he want the general to say? 'Yes, Thomas,
I've always been blessed with a fucking huge cock and I've used it to plug
countless women's holes?' He smirked subtly at himself, wondering why he
cared so much; maybe he was projecting onto the general and wishing he was
as big as him? Thomas had always been a bit insecure about his body, not
least because he'd often been exposed to the general through the media, but
he thought he'd grown out of that.

'I've only ever been with one woman,' said the general after a pause. 'I
know it doesn't sound very glamourous, but that's how my life went. We met
at a mutual friend's party and immediately took to one another because we
were the only people there who felt like talking instead of just dancing
around. We sneaked out to a secluded cliff and spent the night talking
about the dumbest things, like which constellations we could see or
invent. It felt romantic at the time; of course, it seems clich‚ and
silly now, just like lots of other things that make youth so special.'

'That sounds amazing, Conner,' said Thomas, looking at the general with
awe. 'I didn't mean to bring that up, I was just...'

'No, don't worry,' said the general with a smile. 'It's been years since
she died. Even the biggest pain fades away with time, you know. The memory
of her is able to make me extremely happy or insanely sad, but after a
time, you stop remembering spontaneously. Of course, it's hard not to
remember when you're all alone... so thank you again for keeping me
company, Tom.'

'You're welcome, man,' said Thomas, cheering up. 'Like I said, there are
worse places to be.'

The two spent a comfortable morning together and, when Thomas's clothes
were done, they dressed and left together for the office. It hardly
requires mentioning that the fates decided that Emerson would be on
latrineman duty that day and that he would see the general and his
secretary arriving to work together. Despite all his reason, he was unable
to stop that seed of discord called jealousy from taking hold of his heart
and, instead of talking to Thomas and learning that he and the general were
simply becoming good friends, the latrineman spent that day enveloped in a
dark mist of malice.


11. Family Matters


'Think of the tightest pussy you've ever been in,' said general Belfario,
kneeling behind his son, his giant manhood leaking all over his airtight
asshole and onto the bed. 'Think of how it felt to fuck that pussy, Mikka.'

He felt his son's breathing die down and his ass relax a bit; it opened
slightly and kissed his father's dick, bathing in a river of its
precum. The general bit his lips, barely able to restrain himself from
ramming into his child right then and there. It was sick and something he
never could have even imagined doing, but he had to get himself in the
zone, make himself want to fuck his son. It was for the good of the
country, for the good of them all. His giant balls ached for release and
his manhood pulsated with anticipation, pushing into Belfario's asshole
with every surge. He felt it relax more and saw that half his cockhead had
managed to go inside; he felt the warmth of his son's insides and bit
harder on his lips to stop himself from cumming.

'That's it, just keep thinking about stuff that gets you off. It'll be
easier if you enjoy it, right? Easier if you think of things you like?'

'Y... yeah,' said Belfario, hesitant to join his father's dirty
talk. 'Niena Dollert... was the tightest cunt and most amazing fuck I've
ever had.'

'Yeah? The pig-tailed Dollert twerp from across the street? Do you remember
how it felt when you entered her?'

'Yeah, of course,' said Belfario. 'She was wet as a lake because I'd spent
an hour fucking her between her tits and teasing her. And because I'd
leaked a lake all over her for the same reason...'

General Belfario's cock twitched and he gave a gentle push, sliding most of
his head into his son's asshole.

'Hoooly hell, Dad!' shouted Belfario as he felt the thing spread his
hole. 'Is... is that it? Are you in? Holy shit you're huge...'

'Just the head, Mikka,' said the general and patted his son on the back
when he gave a desperate sigh. 'You'll be fine. One step at a time, you'll
take all of me inside you. I'm sure you'll manage; you've accomplished so
much in your life already and I'm so proud of you, kid. What's taking your
Dad's cock into your ass compared to being named Hand without even being a
general, huh?'

'I guess,' said Belfario reluctantly. 'Does this turn you on, Dad? You've
been hard all this time...'

'Yeah, kid... you're fucking hot' said the general. 'Part of becoming a
Hand means losing the ability to disciminate between sexes when it comes to
getting turned on. It would be a pretty bad formula if its carriers just
kept fucking women and cumming only into them. Even if a woman could
somehow become an alpha, she could never pass the formula on, so the
formula was designed to delete men's limitations on who they can have sex
with.'

'Wait, wait,' said Belfario, clenching his ass and immediately regretting
the decision as he felt his father's manhood forcibly keeping it open. 'I'm
gonna become gay if I do this? I don't want that! I love women!'

'You weren't listening, Mikka,' said the general. 'You will just lose
whatever's preventing you from finding men attractive too. You'll still
love women; hell, I still do, and I've never fucked a man outside the line
of duty. My only romantic partners have been women, as I'm sure yours will
continue to be... you will just gain the ability to get hard from seeing
other men and the ability to fuck them to pass on the formula or just to
make them see you as their superior, which is what being a Hand is all
about. How do you think the Grand General got the enemies at Marydon to
surrender? It sure wasn't from just standing around them, oozing
masculinity. No, he had to get his cum into every single one of them. I
still don't know how he managed it, but he the man can clearly be very
persuasive. Or subtle.'

'God, this is all so fucked up, Dad,' said Belfario. 'Can we just get this
over with?'

'I could,' said the general, grabbed his manhood at the root, unable to get
his whole hand around it, and pushed it into his son's ass, getting stuck
after another inch went in and Belfario shouted and recoiled, 'but you
can't. Haven't you ever fucked a girl in the ass? I need to relax you
first, which is why I've been telling you to think of stuff that gets you
horny. So please, Mikka... think of that tight pussy. Think of how tight
your ass must be for your Dad compared to that pussy and how it's going to
feel for me to fuck you.'

'Okay,' said Belfario, 'I'll try... I've almost stopped feeling my ass now,
you know, it just hurt when you stabbed something inside me. Am I even
gonna be able to shit normally after this? I don't think something so huge
was ever meant to go into an asshole...'

'You'll be fine after a day, Mikka,' said the general in a comforting
tone. '... Do you want me to fuck you with my head a bit to show you how it
feels?'

Without waiting for an answer, the general slid out a bit and then back in,
layers of his precum paving the way into his son's back door as the young
Belfario inhaled sharply and gripped the bed tighter, letting out a soft
grunt which told his father that that felt good, getting his massive cock
even harder. The general had stopped feeling bad about having his monster
inside his child; he started seeing his son as just another man, ready to
get his ass plowed and ready to be seeded. The general started rocking back
and forth, plopping his head in and out of Belfario, dying inside every
time his son grunted with pleasure as he realized how good it could feel to
have a big dick in his ass.

'Do you like that, Mikka?' the general asked over Belfario's loud sighs as
he continued to head-fuck him. 'You know, this is how I fucked your mother
when I made you. Of course, back then my whole dick was as big as my
cockhead is now... You're taking more of me inside you right now than your
mom ever did, kid. I'm proud of you.'

'Th-thanks, Dad,' said Belfario, unable to fully comprehend what his father
was telling him. All he knew was that he couldn't believe what he was
feeling as his dad's massive pole went in and out of him with just its tip,
spreading his ass with every ingress, sliding against the walls of his
shithole. 'God... I never thought getting fucked could feel so good.'

'I'm just teasing your hole, Mikka,' said the general, 'the way you would
tease the lips of a pussy, you know. I have five inches of myself inside
you right now, but that's still just my cockhead. But yes, I know it feels
amazing... I too was afraid when general Maden started going inside me, but
I held on, I gave it my all to receive him like a good soldier, and I did
what I had to do for my country. And he's even bigger than me...'

'AHH!' yelled Belfario as the general's thick shaft started tearing him
apart after his head was fully inside. 'Ugh... yes... y-yes, Dad, please
push it in a bit more. That feels fucking amazing, you're touching
something inside...'

'Your prostate, kid. You're welcome for that.'

The general looked down his massive torso and ripped abs at the plowing
machine between his legs, its top firmly inside his son's beautiful
asshole. Belfario's ass muscles were gripping his father's cock tightly and
trying to pull more of it in and, soon enough, he started backing up on it,
eager to take more and more of his father inside himself. The general
closed his eyes because it was too much to take, lowered his torso over his
son's back, put one arm around his neck and forced him down onto the bed,
pressing all his mountains of muscle against his child.

'God, Dad... I really can't believe I'm saying this, but it feels amazing
to have your cock inside me,' said Belfario as he relaxed in the general's
arms and let his pole slide deeper inside. 'I bet no son's ever said that
to his father before, huh?'

'I don't know, but it feels amazing to be inside you too,' said the
general, flexing his muscles to engulf Belfario in his body. '... Do you
think you can take all of me inside, son? No one's ever been able to yet.'

'I... I don't... God...'

Belfario almost uttered a refusal, but as he was about to, his ass clenched
around the general's meat once again, sending rivers of pleasure down
Belfario's back. A thought suddenly emerged from his subconscious, a
curious amalgamation of desires and wants, of childhood memories that he
shared with his father, of questions and answers, and manifested into an
utterance too forceful for him to control.

'I want you to give me all you got, Dad,' he said and closed his eyes. 'I
want you to keep doing what you're doing to my ass... because it feels
great... and because I trust you. We've always had this connection, you
know. The same way I always trusted you to catch me if I fell or to patch
me up if I got hurt... I trust you to fuck me in the ass and give me your
everything. If that'll make you happy... If you think it'll make you happy
to enter me completely, then do it. It's my job to take it like a
man... like your son... and I'll be damned if I don't enjoy my job.'

'Holy shit, kid, you sure can talk up a storm,' said the general as he
laughed and slapped Belfario's ass playfully. '... I understand what you're
saying, though. I'm glad you trust me; I trust you too. I'm proud that
you're taking your duty so seriously, but what do you say we have some fun
while we're at it? We're both men, and we both love to fuck. This is just
another kind of fucking, right? And you like it? Don't think I think any
less of you because you said you're enjoying having a cock up your
ass. We're all human and we're all built with similar pleasure centers, and
there's nothing wrong with asses. Anyone who tells you differently is just
too afraid to admit it to themselves.'

Belfario grinned and voluntarily squeezed his ass around his father, gently
pushing against his cock and laughing when the general let out a yelp. 'Are
you sure I'm the one who can talk up a storm?'

The general slapped his son's ass again and leaned harder into him,
dropping both of them to the bed. As he lay on top of Belfario, he savored
the warmth of his son's insides. He started slowly swaying his hips from
side to side, letting his manhood explore his son. Belfario in turn started
growling softly, pressing his body against the general's as hard as he
could and letting his father spread his ass wider with his thick dick. They
stayed like this for several minutes, exchanging the occasional comment on
how good it felt to be so close. Soon enough, the general started lifting
his hips and lowering them back onto his son, his pole sliding in and out
of Belfario's precum-lubed asshole. He went slowly, enjoying every second
he could spend on top of that amazing man he called his son, appreciating
his muscular back, his long neck, his gorgeous blond hair, running his
hands along his lower back, ass, and legs, squeezing the tight muscles and
pushing and pulling him on and off his dick as he pleased.

'You're so fucking hot, kid,' the general breathed into his son's ear as he
started plowing him faster. He spread himself all over Belfario, putting
his arms on his son's arms, his legs on his son's legs, letting him handle
all of his father's weight. He was surprised that Belfario didn't complain
in spite of the weight difference.

'Your cock feels so good inside me, Dad,' said Belfario quietly. 'It's
like... I can almost feel it in my stomach or something. Is that all of
it?'

'Yeah, kid, most of it. You're taking about 11 inches of me right now, I
think. I'm so fucking proud of you, Mikka,' said the general amid his
thrusting and the loud rocking of the bed as he fucked Belfario's
hole. 'You have no idea how it feels to have so much of your body inside
someone else. Although... Fuck, I guess soon enough you will know.'

'I don't know and I don't care,' said Belfario as he reached behind himself
and put his hands on his father's stomach, feeling his hard abs and
enjoying the thought of being able to handle such a big man. Was the
formula somehow acting on him already through his father's precum? Or was
he only now becoming conscious of desires that had always lain hidden
inside him? It mattered little. He was enjoying taking his father's cock
and that was all. The way it spread and relaxed his ass muscles, the way
its size made his insides feel full and somehow complete, the way it slid
against his ass tissue and sent surges of electricity through his body; the
was he could feel and smell his father's sweat on himself, his breath on
his neck, his chest on his back, his huge arms on his arms; the way he was
getting fucked in the ass by the cock that had made him. He loved it
all. The whole thing was so intoxicating, he almost wondered how anyone
could not love it.

'Are you ready, Mikka?!' asked the general loudly, panting as he raised and
lowered his hips rapidly, slamming into his son without rhythm, like a
beast claiming its territory. He felt it rising inside him, felt the coming
flood as a surge of emotions like pleasure, happiness and love fired in his
brain. 'Do you want my cum, kid? Do you want it?! Do you want me to cum
inside your ass? God, your Dad's cumming into you... I'm fucking cumming!'

'Yes! Yes! Fucking yes!' shouted Belfario as he clenched every muscle in
his body to try to weather his father's assault. 'Fucking cum inside of me!
Oh, God, you're hitting it so hard. God... I'm fucking cumming too!'

'Fuuuuck!' yelled the general as he felt the cum surge through his massive
cock, spreading his son's ass wider and exploding inside him. One wave
came, and then another, and then another as he kept violently fucking
Belfario, feeling his manhood bathing in a pool of his cum inside his
son. He kept fucking and cumming and felt his cum start coming out of
Belfario, dribbling down his taint and onto the bed. As he felt his son's
asshole clench rhythmically while he came too, he kept plowing Belfario's
ass with his hard, cum-lubed cock, taking some of his juice out and pushing
it back in with every thrust, delivering another load every time he went
all the way inside.

'Hooooly fuck, Dad!' yelled Belfario as he felt the river of cum flowing
freely into and out of his asshole and felt it forming a pool on the bed
just under his ballsac. He already came between the bed and his stomach,
but his father kept going. Was he cumming several times or was this just
one long session? He had been storing so much juice in his balls, it was no
wonder they needed to be that big.

As his father kept plowing him and cumming all over his insides, Belfario
realized what had just happened and realized what it meant. He had taken
his father's essence inside of him. He'd done his duty. And, soon, his
reward would be the status of alpha. What exactly did it mean? The general
had given him a relatively terse description of the whole affair. How fast
would his body transform? Would everything about it change? He worried
briefly that his cock would stay the same size, but then laughed the
thought off. So what? It was a good 7 inches anyway and almost as thick as
his forearm; he was proud of what his father's genes had given him and it
wasn't like the thing would start working any better if it grew larger.

'Do you cum that much every time now?' he suddenly asked his father,
struggling to breathe under his relaxed mass. 'It's fucking hot, but it
seems like a bitch to clean up.'

'No, not every time,' said the general, breathing heavily. 'You're the
first guy to be able to keep his ass tight all throughout in spite of my
size, and I can't tell you how good that felt. Have you been working out
those asshole muscles in the gym or something?'

'Hah, fat chance,' laughed Belfario. '... But if working out my asshole
feels so good, I might just start.'

'Cheeky kid,' said the general and slapped his son's ass again. After a
pause, he added: 'You can come work out with me anytime you want.'